The Breakup Doctor by Phoebe Fox

Author:Phoebe Fox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: chick lit, contemporary romance, contemporary women, women's fiction, southern fiction, romantic comedy, dating and relationships, breakups
Publisher: Henery Press
Published: 2014-06-24T04:00:00+00:00

Sasha called before I’d even made it into my car, bubbling words in my ear like “confident” and “professional” and “a natural.”

Even the gaping wound in the living room wall that stared at me as I let myself in the front door didn’t bring me down off the high I’d ridden since leaving the radio station. I hardly registered the hole, just floated right past it into the kitchen to start the coffee I desperately needed.

As I poured water into the back of the percolator, I glanced over to where my computer monitor rested on a corner desk in the adjacent den, surprised to see the shifting patterns of my screen saver. I remembered powering it down right after Sasha came over last night.

Dim memories started to seep in as I measured out scoops of coffee: Waking up suddenly in the darkness of my bedroom, Sasha gone. Unable to go back to sleep, I’d lain awake rehashing yet again what had gone wrong between Kendall and me. The thoughts chased around in my head pointless as rabbit racing until I made myself get up. And then...then there was a black hole in my memory.

I sent another foreboding look at the computer. I was so relieved I hadn’t made any stupid calls to Kendall last night in my inebriated stupor, I hadn’t stopped to think what else I might have done. Rambling, drunken emails were only marginally less awful than rambling, drunken phone calls. I felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with my hangover.

The walk to my desk felt like the Green Mile, and I jiggled the mouse with dread blooming in my stomach. My email account snapped up on the monitor—but it was the one the paper had given to me, I saw with a flood of relief.

I clicked on the inbox—forty-three new messages already just from this morning. I scrolled past the new ones and noticed another stack of messages that I didn’t remember looking at, but which had been opened.

I clicked on Sent Mail. Apparently I’d made some replies too. That could be bad.

The subject line of one message caught my eye—Re: ASHAMED. My reply was sent at 3:21 a.m. My hands felt a little clammy. There was no telling what I might have said to people in the state I’d been in.

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